


if you don’t let go you’re gonna break me

by kingsnow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Actually Incest, Coronavirus, Ex Sex, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Modern Era, jon pov, lockdown - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:41:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28464735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsnow/pseuds/kingsnow
Summary: Sansa chooses to spend lockdown with her half-brother instead of her boyfriend.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 16
Kudos: 91





	if you don’t let go you’re gonna break me

Jon didn’t want to say no when Sansa showed up at his door. He hadn’t had much in him for the past few months, but the urge to save her was irresistible when the opportunity fell into his lap like this. It didn’t matter what had happened the last time he’d spent time alone with his half-sister. If she wasn’t worried about that, neither was he. 

“I don’t want to go back to Joffrey, and I don’t want to go sit in an empty house up North,” Sansa said, and Jon didn’t bother asking why. It wasn’t just that he knew the answer, he didn’t want her to think better of the ill advised decision to crawl into his fucked up little world. 

“I’ll go by and pick up your stuff,” he offered, but Sansa shook her head.

“I just want it to be over. I’m sick of being trapped there with him.”

So they don’t talk about Joffrey Baratheon. It’s like he never existed.

Jon bought her a toothbrush at the drugstore and she started stealing tshirts and wearing them without a bra. When asked, she reported she’d ordered new clothes off the internet. And true enough, a stream of packages began to arrive two days after she moved in. Money had never been a problem with the Starks. And Sansa was the last of them, she could spread it all around as much as she saw fit from the trust he’d never gotten a share of. 

He wasn’t bitter about that. Not really. He could ask, after all. Sue, even. He was Ned Stark’s son too, after all. He should be entitled to the Stark legacy. But he didn’t think he’d still feel like a man if he begged his little sister for cash after fucking her at their father’s funeral. 

He couldn’t write with her this close by, invading every inch of his space with the scent of the scented candles that never stopped burning and the humming of 90s summer hits. His dissertation had long since gotten away from him, and quarantine had made taking a break from that all but inevitable. 

“You miss me?” she asked, coming up behind him with a mug of hot chocolate in her hands. 

“Of course.”

“Good,” she said, and then softer, “I missed you too.”

But it wasn’t just that he missed her. That was always there, the dull ache that characterized her life. It wasn’t different this year. Spending so much time alone shouldn’t be as hard for him as it was, but without the lads to distract him he didn’t know how to fill his days. 

“So what happened to Val?”

That Sansa remembered her name had to mean something, because they’d only run into each other at the grocery store the one time. And of course Jon knew what it meant that Sansa was asking. 

“She’s with her sister, I think.”

“You guys split up?”

“Something like that,” Jon said, because it was too pathetic to tell the truth and let Sansa know that hadn’t been a real thing. The first time they’d spent any real alone time together they had realized they didn’t like each other very much, but they’d liked fucking enough to let the whole thing drag out another six months.

“I’m going to make some bread, I think,” Sansa said, perking up as she left the room. 

Jon hadn’t thought that getting her under his roof would force them to talk about what had happened before lockdown. Talking about that was the last thing he wanted. He wanted to be in it again. And with her this close, and the domestic fantasy they settled into, it was risky. 

That night he dreams about her kneading bread, wearing just the apron she;d ordered after spending the better part of an afternoon looking at pinterest. It’s a metaphor, it has to be. He’s staring at her ass and she’s rolling out the brioche. It has to be a metaphor for something deeper because one cannot simply want to fuck his sister because he’s in love with her. 

He looks deeper into himself and comes up with no better answer for why he wants her except the way he feels when she looks at him. It’s done a number on him since he first set eyes on her again after being sent off to boarding school. 

On the first night, Sansa had made a big deal about being the one to sleep on the couch. But that night she’d snuck into his room and he’d woken up that morning with her in his arms. He disentangled himself from her and erased evidence of how they’d slept before she woke up. But that was getting harder as the days went on. 

She doesn’t offer an explanation for why she thinks they can still get away with shit like this. He overthinks it, like everything else, wondering if he should let himself fall asleep with her ass wiggled into his hardon, or if he should ask her what the fuck she’s trying to do with him. He comes up with no better answer than to let her taunt him until she makes up her own damned mind.

It takes about two weeks for her to get handsy with him. Sansa has always had a fascination with his muscles, tracing the curve of them with her finger, running her tongue along the grooves of his abdomen. Nothing really made him feel more like a man or lit a fire under him to do more pushups. That night she slipped a hand up his shirt and brushed it against his chest hair. 

She met no resistance, but pulled her hand back anyway. He thought she was going to stop, and he cursed himself for not 

“Do you still want me like that?” she asked, sheepishly.

He answered her with a kiss, and by taking off the shirt that held them apart in the first place.

Her kisses were more practiced than they had been at first, when he’d had to teach her what to do because none of her other boyfriends had done the job. She’d always been clumsy at sex. Eager to please him, curious, but sloppy. The one thing the golden girl wasn’t naturally good at. That made it better, somehow. 

Gods, he’d hated it when he thought about her doing the things he’d taught her to Joffrey. But here she was in his bed again. 


End file.
